Luyện nghe bài hát Sellers of Flowers

The sellers of flowers buy up old
They pull off dead petals, old heads of lettuce
And 'em as new ones, for cheaper and fairer
But they die by the morning, so who is the

Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers, maybe

'Cause winters coming, soon after
It faster, faster, chasing off autumn
We go from a warm sun to a white sun
We go from a large sun to only a one

I was a small girl, I walked through the market
Holding my hand, mitten-gloved hand
That there were roses, lit up in glass boxes
The heat lamps would them from freezing in winter

We never them but somebody must have
Maybe made it or maybe they froze up
Before any person had put them in
And hoped that they'd still be alive by the

the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
Not walking on a dark night,
Through a they're forgetting,
Who's the winner, who's the
Maybe winter, winter

Somebody on a light through a tunnel
They're holding a piece of their in the rubble
Hold on, I won't let go, I to know

But no one lives enough to see the outcome
To know any answers, to what the point is
To know if the winter ever came
Than on that night when I walked with my

A piece of ice, lodged in my mind
in my thoughts, lodged in my eyes
Cold all around, cold all
Warm from inside, warm from

Who's the
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
the winner
Not the roses, not the buyers, not the sellers,
Not the tellers, of the stories,
Not the fathers, not children,
Not those on a dark night,
a memory they're forgetting,

Who's the winner, the winner
Maybe winter, maybe
Who's the winner, who's the
Maybe winter, maybe
the winner, who's the winner